So, health-wise things are good: Doctors haven’t found anything amiss, my meds seem to be doing what they’re supposed to, and most people I talk to don’t believe I’m less than a month out from transplant. Sure, I’m not sleeping great, and I’m pretty gassy, but those’re kind of my only complaints. And, honestly, the gas is only really a problem for everyone else. Like that poor lady walking behind me at Walgreens.
Yes, that’s right, Walgreens. I am slowly becoming a person again and leaving the apartment for somewhere other than the hospital for the first time in months. I even wear real shoes now, instead of slippers. Granted, I’ve only just started pulmonary rehabilitation, so I’ve still got a ways to go — my legs are weaker than I’d like, I still haven’t figured out how to fully capitalize on my new lungs — but I can totes run errands and stroll short distances.
More importantly, after living out here for the last nine months, I was finally able to make my pilgrimage to the Googleplex.
Also, randomly, I discovered a water tower painted to look like a fruit can from the 1930s, just hanging out in a nearby office park. Because, obviously.
Besides that, I finally updated the Books page here on the site, as well as cleared out all the dead links from the Short Fiction page. I’ve also started a few gratuitously bizarro stories under various pseudonyms, had one published, had one rejected, and started brainstorming a bunch of other stories that are less likely to keep me from ever being employed again. Because, apparently, when you can breathe, you don’t need to sleep eighteen hours a day. Who knew?